


Reinvent Love

by a_walking_lovesong



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_walking_lovesong/pseuds/a_walking_lovesong
Summary: "You can't feel bad for feeling, Ryan. That's just human nature. Don't thank me for doing something any good person should do.""One thing you should know about people, Bren, is that people will thank you for doing the most basic kindnesses because not everyone will do them."





	1. When The Day Met The Night

Ryan liked to take walks. He did it whenever he could, wherever he could. In the woods, down the street, making rounds through his house - it didn’t really matter, but he did prefer the woody trails behind his neighborhood. It was dim even during the day, the trees so dense that they blocked a good amount of the light, and Ryan liked it that way. 

It was late, but he didn’t care much at this point. His father had gotten drunk again. When he got drunk, he got angry, and Ryan didn’t feel like dealing with the yelling tonight. He couldn’t just up and leave to live somewhere else, as his mother disappeared on them years ago, but he could leave the house and wait for his father to fall asleep before he went home. 

Ryan was used to seeing trash along the ground, but as he got further away from the houses and roads, the amount seemed to lessen. Fewer people meant less trash, in the world of nature. He’d taken to bringing a trash bag with him on his walks in the woods to help clean up. He’d also gotten into the habit of walking with his head down, watching the ground so that he could scan for trash and not make eye contact with any other walkers. Because of this, he almost didn’t notice the small cabin. It was nearly covered in greenery, and being made of wood, it looked almost like a large tree. The only reason he did notice was because of a quick movement he saw out of the corner of his eye.

Something in a window ducked away, leaving the curtain swinging. Ryan’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know of anybody that lived this far out of the neighborhood. He looked around and saw no car, but a small dirt road on the other side of the yard. 

“Hello?” Ryan tentatively stepped closer to the house, trying to see inside. Before he could get any closer, the door swung open. A boy, about Ryan’s age, was standing just inside the threshold, clutching a bundle of leaves and a glass bottle filled with something silvery that Ryan couldn’t identify. “Sorry, I just didn’t know about anybody living this far out of town.” The boy didn’t say anything, just stared at Ryan. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around school. Do you go to the school in the next district over, or are you homeschooled?” His question was answered by silence, only interrupted by the sound of wind in the trees and a few soft bird calls.

“Homeschooled,” the boy finally replied. His voice was soft and deep, and Ryan thought it sounded like the feeling of gold satin sliding across one’s fingers, smooth and soothing. 

“That’s cool. My name’s Ryan, by the way.” The boy’s thumb rubbed a circle on the glass bottle he was holding. He sat on the steps and invited Ryan to do the same.

“I’m Brendon.” 

“Nice to meet you, Brendon. What’s it like living out here?” Brendon bit his lip, a habit he had while thinking or concentrating, which Ryan thought was cute in a way.

“I mean, it’s nice. Quiet, except for the birds and foxes. They can get really loud sometimes. Uhm… I don’t know, I’ve never lived anywhere else, so…” Ryan’s eyes widened in shock.

“Really? You’ve always lived out  _ here _ ? How long does it take to get into town?” 

“From what my mom tells me, it takes about fifteen minutes.” Ryan didn’t think he’d really walked that far or for that long, but then realized he’d left the house almost as soon as he got home, which was at two-thirty, and the sun was now beginning to set. 

“Wait - from what your mom tells you? Have you never made the trip yourself?” Brendon shook his head. 

“She doesn’t want me to. She already gets treated pretty awful when she goes, and she doesn’t want to drag me into it.” It suddenly occurred to Ryan that Brendon’s mother was the lady that sometimes came into town, draped in flowy dresses and tasseled scarves, and was constantly followed by whispers from the kids at his school and their parents. Knowing that, he could see why she didn’t want Brendon to witness it.

“Oh, yeah. I think I see your mom sometimes. People are really mean. I don’t get it, she’s just a lady trying to get her groceries. They don’t have to be rude just because she’s not a part of the PTO. She’s always so polite, but people are still such jerks.” Brendon’s lips curved upward slightly into a soft smile and nodded. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” 

“Oh, uh…” Before he could respond, the rumble of a car approached them. A dust-bathed pickup truck pulled into the yard, and the woman Ryan had seen a few times in town stepped out. She went to get a brown bag from the bed of the truck but stopped when she saw Ryan and Brendon sitting on the steps.

“Who is this?” she asked slowly, glancing back and forth from Brendon to Ryan and back.

“Oh, Mama, this is Ryan. He was taking a walk and stumbled across our place.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I just lost track of time and ended up walking further than I usually do. My backyard connects to the trails, too. I live down that way,” Ryan said, pointing back toward the woods.

“Brendon, help me put away these groceries. Ryan, I suggest you head home before it gets too dark.” The thought of going home made Ryan stiffen. There was no way his dad was asleep yet. He didn’t want to risk getting beaten up for leaving. 

Brendon seemed to sense Ryan’s tension and motioned for him to wait while he got up and whispered something to his mom. At his words, her face softened. “Here, Ryan, why don’t you come inside for a bit?” She disappeared into the house, leaving Ryan and Brendon outside. Ryan didn’t move, but Brendon nodded his head toward the door. The two moved inside, but before they got too far, Ryan stopped the other boy.

“What’d you say to her?” The boy just sighed, rubbing the bottle still in his hand. 

“You’re gonna think we’re crazy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, just… Don’t say anything to anyone. Can I trust you?” Ryan began to say something, but Brendon quickly shushed him. After a moment of silence, Brendon nodded. “Okay. You won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what? You’re kinda freaking me out, Brendon.” Brendon closed his eyes. 

“Well… Ugh, just- come here.” Ryan raised an eyebrow at the boy moving into the living room but followed him anyway. He was kneeling in front of a coffee table, a small potted plant placed in front of him. When he saw Ryan come in, he gestured at an overstuffed armchair next to the table. “Sit down there.” Ryan quietly complied. Before he could ask what was going on, the boy on the floor placed his hands around the pot and began whispering to the leaves. Ryan almost couldn’t believe it, but he could swear the stem of the plant began to stretch, new leaves beginning to sprout, and dead parts being repaired. When the plant had grown a good three inches, the boy turned to a wide-eyed Ryan with a sheepish look. 

“What the hell was that?” Brendon laughed under his breath. 

“Magic. What did it look like?” He said the words like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“It looked like you just talked to a plant and made it grow in ten seconds. That’s not possible.”

“When you’re fae it is.”

Ryan was ready to argue, but that word coming out of Brendon’s mouth made him shut his own. He sputtered for a moment before spitting out a single word.

“What?” The boy on the floor laughed again.

“We’re fae-folk. I guess you humans usually call us fairies.”

Ryan felt as if his brain had stopped functioning. “Wait, so you actually just talked to that plant, and I’m not going insane?”

“Nope, not insane.”

“So you can… You can do, like, spells and stuff?”

“Well, sometimes, but it’s more natural magic. Plants and crystals and auras, that sort of thing.” Ryan nodded slowly. “My mom’s fixing up something for you. I… I felt you tense up when she told you to go home. We can… well, she should be making you a-”

“Here.” Brendon’s mother re-entered the room, a small pouch in her hand. “This will protect you.” She handed it to Ryan. It was mildly heavy for its size, and he could feel some sort of crystal and leaves, along with some other things. 

“How did you know I needed-” Brendon and his mother shared a look, and then she smiled. 

“Fae magic. Brendon could sense that you’re trustworthy and that someone at home makes you feel fear and anxiety, really just a more enhanced version of what normal people have. A protection charm should help with that. And, to help you get home,” she pulled a stone out of her pocket, washing the room in a warm yellow light. “So you can see the trails.” 

“I- Thank you. That’s really kind of you.”

“It’s no problem, dear. I’ve seen you around town, you know. You’re the only person that’s ever smiled at me in that town besides one other person, but I don’t see them anymore.”

“Thank you again,” Ryan said, moving toward the door. “I’ll be sure to stop by again to drop this off.” He waved the stone around slightly. Brendon and his mother smiled. 

“There’s no need to return it, but it would be a pleasure to have you visit, Ryan. Feel free any time. We’re almost always home.” 

“Thank you Brendon. Thank you…” he trailed off, realizing he didn’t know Brendon’s mother’s name.

“Call me Lindsay.”

“Thank you, Lindsay. I’ll be sure to drop by later.” She placed a hand on Brendon’s shoulder.

“Dear, would you show him out to the trail? I’m going to start dinner.” Brendon nodded as his mother left the room. Before the two boys exited to the porch, the fae boy grabbed a small vial from a table and put it in his pocket.

Once they were outside, Ryan watched and waited as Brendon poured some of the large bottle’s silvery contents into the vial. He then produced a small cork and sealed it, then wrapped a length of string around the top and tied it, making it into a necklace. Turning to him, Brendon held it up.

“Here.” He placed it around Ryan’s neck and he looked down, inspecting it.

“What is it?” 

“A gift. Just a little extra something.”

“Okay, but what is it supposed to do?” Brendon’s brown eyes reflected the soft moonlight and he smiled, picking up Ryan’s other hand.

“It’s a little bit of magic. Just a little piece of me to take home.” Ryan was thankful that it was dark out. He was sure that if it was brighter, Brendon would see the obvious blush on his cheeks. He smiled back. 

“Thank you, Brendon. Goodnight.” Brendon brought Ryan’s hand up to his lips and brushed them across his knuckles. 

“Goodnight, Ryan.”

~~~

When Ryan reached his house, the lights were still on, but that didn’t mean his dad was necessarily awake. He entered the house quietly and was happy to hear his father snoring. He usually stayed up later, drinking until the early morning. 

The door slammed behind him, but the large body didn’t make a sound. Ryan wasn’t quite sure, but he could almost swear that the pouch sitting in his pocket was warm. He was able to creep past his father without alerting him, a sense of safety settling around him as he moved further away. As he went up the stairs and slipped into his room, an idea struck. He closed the door, grabbed a thumbtack, and pinned the pouch above his door, immediately feeling a wave of calm wash over him. He smiled, thinking of Brendon and Lindsay. Even the few minutes he spent in their cabin made him feel more at home than the years he’d spent in his own house.

He got ready for bed and draped the vial’s cord over one of his headboard’s posts. It captured the moonlight coming through his window, making it almost glow, tinting the room a pale silver. He gazed at it for a while, remembering the feeling of Brendon’s lips on his knuckles, his arm brushing his hair as he placed the necklace over his head, the warm gaze he gave him as he disappeared into the woods. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and as he dozed off, he could almost swear he heard that gold-satin voice in his head.  _ Goodnight, Ryan. _


	2. Slow Motion

A week passed before Ryan had a chance to slip away long enough to see Brendon again. His schoolwork picked up and his father hadn't been drinking as much after the boys' first meeting. When he heard his father grumbling the second he got home from school Friday, he turned around and marched into the woods.    


The walk seemed shorter this time. It might have been the fact that he was thinking about the fae-boy the entire time; his fingers brushing across his face as he hung the necklace around his throat, his lips ghosting over his knuckles, his gold-satin voice. It was strange to think that his only friend was a fairy, but he’d had the whole week to think about it. He’d of course woken up and thought it was all a dream, but seeing the glowing stone on his nightstand and the silvery vial hanging from his bedpost solidified Brendon’s existence in his mind.

When he reached the house, the boy he'd been daydreaming about was sitting on the steps, his chin cupped in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. Ryan's feet crunched on the fallen leaves causing Brendon to look up and his face break out into a smile.    


"Ryan!" The taller boy jumped up and nearly tackled the lanky golden-eyed one to the ground. With a foot placed a step behind, Ryan was able to keep both of them standing upright. "I had a feeling you were coming."    


"Probably your weird fae thing. I was trying to come a couple days ago, but my schoolwork got piled on and my dad hadn't been drinking much and-"   


"Hey," Brendon cut him off. "It's okay. You came back. I wasn't sure if you would." He took Ryan's hand and pulled him toward the house. "My aunt Iris is home today. She's not really my aunt, but she and my mom are really good friends so she's basically family. She runs a tea shop in town, you might know her," he rambled, guiding Ryan into the same overstuffed chair from the last time he visited. "Mom! Ryan's here! Bring Iris so she can meet him!"    


After some shuffling from the hallway, Lindsay appeared around the corner. Another woman followed her, slightly shorter, with lighter hair almost the color of his own pulled into a high ponytail. Her clothes were more modern, though still flowy and soft.   


"Ryan, lovely to see you," Brendon's mother said. "Brendon's been perched by the window all week waiting for you to come back."   


"I was not! I just like sitting in the sun, and that chair is really comfortable." Brendon crossed his arms and blushed. Ryan laughed.    


In the daylight, Ryan was able to observe the living room properly. It was small, but it was made even smaller by the large chairs, side tables, and many plants filling it. The floor was plain wood, but it was hard to tell because of the multiple rugs that blanketed it. In the center, there was an intricately carved coffee table, the wood molded into vines and leaves on the legs, the top having indents for tarot cards to be placed. The walls were the same bare wood as the floor, though it was also nearly covered in fabric and needle-point works. It was quite hard to tell there was any wood in the house's skeleton at all unless you looked hard enough.    


Ryan's observations were interrupted by Iris, who smiled at her almost-nephew. "Bren, why don't you go show Ryan your piano playing? I have to go anyway, I've got to restock the shelves in the shop with your mom's new teas." Brendon's head snapped to the side, glaring at her.  
"Actually, I'll go with you. I should probably get a few things from town." Lindsay and Iris both stood up and went outside, leaving the two boys alone in the cozy room. 

~~~

"You play the piano?" Ryan asked, lightly brushing the surface of the instrument with his fingertips. It was ebony black and easily the largest object in the room, the next largest being Brendon's bed, and the only other instrument being an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. The room matched the other parts of the house Ryan had seen, nearly stuffed to the brim with furniture and trinkets and cloth. Bottles lined the shelves along the walls, glass ranging from clear to green to brown, messy script labels held on by ties of embroidery thread. The bed seemed to be tucked into an alcove near the ceiling, books stuffing more shelves below it, less used ones under the stairs to the bed. What was behind the shelves Ryan didn't know, but there was a small door leading in. Large crystals acted as bookends, glittering in the sunlight coming through the window. Underneath that window was a window seat, which Ryan sat down on. Brendon sat on the piano bench.   


"Yeah, it's kind of the one hobby I have. Most of my time is spent working with my mom on school stuff or magic training, but it's easy to get sheet music for me when she goes into town. Iris gets me some too."  
"Can you play something for me?"

Brendon blushed, fidgeting with his hands. "I guess. I'm not very good, I don't think. Mom and Iris say I am, but they have to, right? They're family."  
"I'm sure you're great, Brendon. Come on, play something!"   
"Okay, okay! Uhm..." He rifled through a pile of papers on the small table next to the piano. "Oh, here. I can play this one pretty well, I think. I've never heard the original, but Iris says I play it close enough." The sheet music he pulled out of the pile was titled "Slow Motion" by Third-Eye Blind.  
Ryan, knowing the song, grabbed the guitar and began playing the chords he knew, and sung the lyrics as the other boy played the piano. 

_ Slow motion, see me let go _

_ We’ll remember these days _

_ Slow motion, see me let go _

_ Urban life decays _

_ Slow motion, see me let go _

_ And at home _

_ My sister’s eating paint chips again _

_ Maybe that’s why she’s insane _

_ I shut the door to her moaning _

_ And I shoot smack in my veins _

_ Wouldn’t you? _

_ See my neighbor’s beating his wife _

_ Because he hates his life _

_ There's an arc to his fist as he swings _

_ Oh man, what a beautiful thing _

 

When they faded the song out, Brendon smiled at Ryan. "Were those the real lyrics?"

Ryan nodded, laughing. "Did you know what any of it meant?"    


"Not really. What's smack?"   


"That's a different name for Heroin,” Ryan explained. “It's a drug. It's a stronger version of Morphine. Doctors use it sometimes if you've just gone through intense surgery or something, but it’s super addictive so people that take it feel like they have to keep using it even though they don’t have pain anymore." 

"Oh. And why would someone eat paint chips?"    


"That I don't fully understand. I think it's kinda a self-destructive behavior type thing. It isn't good for you, especially if it's old paint that has lead in it which will poison you. People do really dumb things just to feel okay, but they're not actually doing any good. They're just hurting people around them." Ryan sighed, moving the guitar to the side. "Like my dad. He drinks a lot of alcohol so that he can forget about my mom leaving us when I was a baby, but it just makes him violent. He just yells and hits me. That's why I don't like going home; he's usually drunk and I don't want to be around that, y'know?” Brendon nodded in understanding. “I already don't get treated great at school so adding bruises to the list of stuff the other kids make fun of me for isn't something I want. And everyone in town knows it's just me and my dad, so if I'm walking around with a black eye that came out of nowhere overnight, they'll know it was him. I probably shouldn't, but I really love him and I don't want him to get in trouble so I just avoid him when he gets like that. That's why I take so many walks, why I walked all the way out here last week. If I'm not there, he can't hit me." Ryan had stopped paying attention to his surroundings, so he was abruptly pulled out of his headspace by a pair of arms wrapping around his torso.    


It was Brendon. He'd gotten up from the piano bench and moved to the window seat Ryan was sitting on. His face was pressed into Ryan's neck, arms braced tight around the other boy. Ryan hadn't realized he was crying until he saw the wet spots on Brendon's shoulder. When the grip around him didn't loosen, he just wrapped his arms around Brendon in return and cried into his shoulder, hands gripping the back of his shirt, his soothing words vibrating against his neck.    


He didn't mean for it to happen, but sobs began to wrack his body. It had been a long time since he'd last cried or been held like that, soft and tender and warm. The last time that he could remember was when he was younger, on one of the occasions he came home from school and his father wasn't drunk. He'd been made fun of for only having one parent, and came home crying. His father held him and told him there was nothing wrong with only having one parent, which he knew, soothing him as he cried. Later that night, his dad got drunk, but Ryan stayed in his bedroom, silently still crying.    


When his tears finally slowed, he whispered into Brendon's neck. "Bren?"    


"Yeah, Ry?" Ryan's hands tightened their fists on the fabric of Brendon's shirt.    


"Thank you."   


"For what?"    


"For everything. Being here, putting up with my stupid problems-" Brendon pulled back, holding Ryan's shoulders and keeping his light blue eyes trained on the other boy's honey ones.    


"They're not stupid, Ryan. I may not understand all the details, but I know that it's really affecting you. I may not know much about people, but I know about feelings. If the problems are causing you this much pain, then they're not stupid. You can't feel bad for feeling. That's just human nature. Don't thank me for doing something any good person should do." Ryan's lip quivered, and then he shoved himself back towards Brendon, locking his arms around the taller boy's neck.    


"One thing you should know about people, Bren," Ryan murmured into Brendon’s ear. "Is that people will thank you for doing the most basic kindnesses because not everyone will do them."


	3. Lie To The Truth

After hearing about Ryan's father, Brendon was reluctant to let him leave. Even so, he knew the younger boy had to go home. After all, it was getting late, moving into the early hours of the morning. He may not have understood why Ryan still cared about his father despite the abuse he endured, but he respected it and sent him home with a new protection charm and another kiss on the knuckles.    


The walk home was different than the walk to Brendon's house. On the way there, Ryan would think about the last time he'd visited, excited to see the fae-boy again. On his way home, however, he thought about their time together, trying to burn each movement into his memory for safe keeping. He relished the thoughts of Brendon's hands moving across the piano keys, unsure at first but gaining confidence as he was swept up in the music. The way the boy held him as he cried without hesitation, allowing him to cry into his neck. That boy may not have understood many things about the way humans worked, but he understood their emotions, and he knew Ryan just needed to let out everything he'd been holding in.

Brendon’s mother had told him that one of the most important things for people was getting physical contact with others, and by the way Ryan had grabbed the back of his shirt and nearly collapsed into him after realizing he wasn't going to let go, he could tell Ryan hadn't had that kind of contact in a long time.    


The moment Ryan walked through his front door, he could smell the alcohol in the air. His father was splayed across the couch, mumbling under his breath. Ryan tried to sneak up the stairs, to no avail. His father heard him and called out to him. He dropped his bag and stood in front of his father. He clasped his hands before asking what his father wanted from him.    


"You wanna... You wanna know sumthin' about your mother, Ryan?" They rarely spoke about Ryan's mother, but when they did, his father said nasty things about her.    


"What?"    


"She... she made friends with this girl... This crazy bitch," he slurred, shaking his head back and forth. "Crazy bitch thought her friend could do magic n' shit. Had'ta get you away from that bull... Fuckin' crazy bitches... Not havin' you learn any o' that shit. Get you outta there, that's what I said to myself."    


"Get me away?" Ryan asked, confusion lacing his voice. He'd always been told his mom left them, not that they had left her. His father mumbled something, but Ryan couldn't hear it. "Dad?" His father's head rolled back onto the arm of the couch and he passed out before answering his son's question.  
Ryan stepped back, more confused than ever. He went upstairs and into his bedroom, where he took the vial from around his bedpost and hung it around his neck, gripping it in his hand. What was his dad talking about? Had he been lying the entire time? He knew he couldn't ask later when his father wasn't drunk, because he'd get mad and aggressive.   


What little his father had told him about his mother didn’t paint the best picture of her. He had been told she'd run away to be with someone else, a girl. He'd never spoken the woman’s name, only said that she was crazy and horrible. The only image Ryan had of his mother was a bitchy lesbian that ditched him and his father when he was only a baby.   


Ryan knew that he liked both boys and girls, but he never talked to his dad about the boys. He'd never reacted well when the topic of homosexuality came up, what with his wife running off with a girl. His father could read him well, so he'd learned that if he spoke a certain way about anything other than girls, he began to suspect something. The first time it happened, the bruises left on Ryan's skin reminded him well enough not to do it again. In his own father's drunken words, "I will not have a goddamn faggot in this house."   


He hadn't told anybody about Brendon. The only time he was brought up outside of Ryan's psyche was when he wrote in his journal. Ryan didn't have friends in school, only passing acquaintances that he'd smile at in the halls. His journal was the only place he could vent about the things he loved without judgment. Lately, the pages had been filled with musings of the brown haired fae-boy with the voice like gold satin, gentle but firm hands, a large smile, and a brain that never stopped listening no matter how much he didn't understand what he was being told. Ryan had dealt with a few crushes in his life, but the thoughts of Brendon running through his head, he thought, would eventually be the death of him.   
After writing in said journal, lingering on movements of Brendon's that made Ryan's heart flutter, he curled himself into his sheets and gazed at the silvery vial hanging off of his bedpost, allowing himself to fall into his newest gold satin dream.


	4. Close Your Eyes

The school day seemed to drag on for ages. When Ryan finally stepped up to his front door that afternoon, he could hear his father mumbling to himself in a drunken stupor, along with a few bumps and the sound of broken glass. Ryan didn’t even bother opening the door before turning and heading into the woods. 

He’d been visiting Brendon every day for the past two weeks. His father had been drinking constantly, only leaving the house to buy more booze. Ryan suspected that his father had gone into his bedroom and read part of the journal he thought was hidden well in one of his desk drawers one night because the moment he had gotten home late one night his father lashed out and demanded to know where he’d been spending his time. Ryan didn’t dare speak a word of the truth.

The weather had begun to grow colder, making his walks much less pleasant, though the thought of spending time with the fae-boy kept him going. Unlike his own home, Brendon’s cabin was always warm. The boys had mostly spent their time in Brendon’s bedroom, Ryan finding new songs for him to play on the piano, and Brendon showing Ryan his magic.

His favorite magic trick came up roughly a week into their regular visits. The two boys were lying on Brendon’s bed, Ryan’s finger tracing the symbols painted on the ceiling only two feet above him. Brendon gazed at the boy next to him, answering his questions about the symbols and what they meant.

“What’s this one?” Ryan asked, tracing over one of them. It was a shape formed by twisting lines that parted, crossed each other, and reconnected, almost resembling a heart-shaped cat’s cradle. The red paint that was used to make it was chipping and faded. 

“That’s our symbol for love. My mom painted it up there when I was born. It’s one of our protection sigils.”

“It’s pretty.” 

“I can show you something prettier, I bet,” Brendon said, smiling. Ryan diverted his attention from the ceiling to the boy next to him, an eyebrow raised in questioning. “Here.” 

Brendon rolled onto his stomach, cupping his hands on the pillow next to Ryan, who moved onto his side to watch. Small smudges of color formed in the air above his hands, dark blues, bright purples, and cloudy whites. He coaxed nebulas into his hands seemingly out of nowhere. The older boy’s eyes widened, watching in awe as the fae-boy spun stars from his fingertips, and he smiled.

“It’s beautiful, Bren.”

“Wait, hold on. Close your eyes.” Brendon moved his hands to Ryan’s hair, and when he pulled them back, they were empty. He then grabbed his polaroid camera, last year’s birthday gift from Iris, and hovered over Ryan, sitting on his legs and snapping a picture while his eyes were still shut. At the flash, he opened his eyes, but Brendon only smiled at him while the photo developed. Ryan was about to ask what Brendon was doing, but he was cut off by the photo being shoved in his face while excitedly being told to look at it. 

The photo contained Ryan, his eyes closed and mouth turned up into a small smile, with the hand-spun galaxies wrapped around his head like a crown, his light brown curls splayed across the pillow. He smiled, grabbing the camera out of Brendon’s hands. 

“Put it on yourself; I want a picture of you in it.” Brendon complied, taking the crown, placing it on his own head, and laying down at Ryan’s side. He stuck his tongue out as he snapped the picture. 

When Ryan went to take the picture out of the camera to let it develop, he saw Brendon creating another ball of stars. He dropped the camera onto the mattress, closing his eyes and sighing at the feeling of Brendon’s fingers in his hair. He was relishing the moment because he expected it to be short, but to his surprise, the hands didn’t move away. They stayed in his hair, playing with the curls and stroking a thumb behind his ear. The fae-boy mumbled something that Ryan couldn’t quite hear.

“Hmm?” Brendon’s cheeks flushed, looking away from the boy in front of him and pulling his hands away.

“Nothing. It’s just something my mom said.”

“What did she say?” Ryan placed a hand on Brendon’s cheek, pulling him back so they were face to face. 

“She was just asking about you. It’s nothing, really.”

“What’d she ask about?” 

“It’s… kinda hard to explain. Iris just told her… She just asked if I- if what I feel is different than...” Brendon sighed and shuffled toward Ryan, wrapping his arms around the boy’s torso and burying his face in his chest. Ryan was sure Brendon could feel his heartbeat thumping in his chest. Ryan tensed, but then relaxed into the fae-boy’s touch. He reached his arms around Brendon, trying to pull him even closer. He curled his neck inward to place his lips beside Brendon’s ear.

“If you think you’re in love? A different kind of love than what you feel for her?” Brendon let out a shaky laugh. He nodded, somehow pressing his face even closer into Ryan’s chest. Ryan placed a hand under his chin, pulling him up to look at him. “Can I try something?” Brendon nodded. “Okay. Close your eyes, alright?” He complied, his eyelids fluttering closed. Ryan leaned forward, pressing his lips to Brendon’s. As he expected, Brendon was startled, but when Ryan’s hand came to rest on the back of his neck and held him in place, he relaxed and smiled into the kiss. 

When they pulled back, Ryan smiled. “Was that okay?” he asked, fingers playing with the ends of Brendon’s hair. 

“That was more than okay.” 

“Good.” There was a moment of silence, the two boys looking at each other, absorbing as much of the scene as they could. It didn’t last long, however, because they were interrupted by a knock at Brendon’s door. 

“Boys, dinner’s ready. Why don’t you come out and eat?” It was Lindsay. Brendon called out and said they were coming.

The boys climbed down from the bed, standing awkwardly for a moment before Brendon grabbed Ryan’s hand, pulling him to the door. “It’s okay. Mom and Iris already thought something was up. It won’t be a huge surprise for them. Unless you really don’t want to, then we don’t have to, but I’m just saying they won’t get upset or anything. We don’t have to if you don’t-” Ryan cut him off by pressing a quick kiss to his lips and squeezing his fingers. 

“No, it’s okay. Let’s go eat, B.” Brendon smiled, leading Ryan out into the dining room, where Lindsay and Iris were sitting at the table. They smiled when they saw the boys’ hands, not bothering to mention the stars still woven in their hair.


	5. Young Veins

Two days after their first kiss, the boys’ hometown had its first snowfall of the winter. Though it hadn’t been when Ryan left his house, it had begun snowing by the time he needed to leave Brendon’s later that night. The two boys had spent the entire Sunday drinking hot cocoa, playing music, making teas with Lindsay for Iris’ shop, and enjoying each others company. As much as neither wanted the day to end, they both knew Ryan had to go home for the night. Thankfully, Lindsay had offered to drive him because she had to bring things to the shop for the next day, and the weather was becoming dismal.

“So you go on a break from school when?” Brendon asked, playing with the fringe of Ryan’s scarf as he tried to bundle himself up. Though he was being driven, he’d been told the heat didn’t work very well in the old pickup. 

“I have a half-day Thursday, and then I’m out for two weeks.” 

“And you’ll come and visit, right?” Brendon bit his lip, doing puppy-dog eyes that Ryan couldn’t say no to. The older boy only rolled his eyes, taking the younger’s hand and turning them towards the door to get in the car.

“Of course I will, Bren. It might be hard for me to get away on Christmas Eve or in the morning, but you know I’ll try.” 

“Yeah, I know.” The two of them piled into the backseat of the truck, and Brendon’s mom started the drive into town. It would take a while because of the snow, but the boys were okay with that; it only meant more time they could spend together. 

“Maybe park a few houses down, Lindsay, on the corner of the block or something. My dad’s been getting really suspicious of stuff lately.” Lindsay nodded, turning up the radio so the boys could whisper to each other without being heard.

Just under the hum of the music, the boys chatted, hands clasped together and bodies close, both for warmth and just wanting to be close. 

“Oh, I meant to do this earlier, but… I kinda got distracted.” Brendon pulled Ryan’s hand closer, blushing as he remembered what had distracted him. One thing Brendon could do with his magic was making temporary marks on skin, which he used on himself to doodle and remind him of things. Recently, though, he’d been drawing on Ryan, giving him fae-symbols that he expressed interest in, little notes, things of that sort. This time, Brendon traced his finger over the back of Ryan’s hand, forming the heart-shaped symbol he’d pointed out a few days earlier. 

This had become routine for the boys. Every day since their first kiss, the fae-boy traced the symbol for love on the back of the human’s hand as a reminder of him while he was home. The marks only lasted about half a day, meaning they had to be refreshed. Because Ryan was going to be finishing up school assignments before break, both boys had agreed he wouldn’t come over until Thursday, which meant they’d have about three days away from each other. Because the mark wouldn’t last that long, Brendon gave Ryan a new vial of his liquified magic.

When they finally reached the block that held Ryan’s house, the two boys spent slightly too long saying goodbye. Ryan cupped the younger boy’s face in his hands, rubbing their noses together before pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“I’ll see you as soon as I can on Thursday, okay?” The fae-boy nodded.

“Right. If anything goes wrong, you can use that vial, okay?” The last vial he’d given Ryan was dead magic, now only a silvery substance with no power. This new one, however, was fresh. When he’d presented it, he explained that, because it was his magic, it was essentially an extension of himself. He could feel whatever the vial felt. If there was pressure on the glass, for instance, he would feel the pressure on his heart. Giving somebody this extension of yourself was an immense measure of trust. “I’ll feel anything you do to it. If I feel anything bad, I’ll come running. Right Mom?” He looked back at his mother, who nodded.

“Yes. You know if you need anything, we’re here.”

Ryan smiled. “Thank you.” He pressed one last kiss to his boyfriend’s lips before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning towards his house. It was dark, but people still had their lights on, allowing him to see the path home. He heard the rumble of the pickup as it turned back towards the woods, leaving him to deal with his father alone, and he silently prayed he’d be asleep. However much Ryan disliked his father for the abuse he made him endure, he’d never wished anything bad upon him. He loved his father, despite everything, because he was the only thing he knew as family. He’d only ever wished he’d be asleep when he got home, or that he got better. Never anything more.

When he stepped inside, something immediately felt wrong. The house smelled. Not of the usual home smell masked by alcohol, but of something else. Curious, he dropped his jacket and crept into the living room. 

His father was in his usual position, splayed across the couch, but some small details were wrong. The table in front of him usually contained nothing but bottles and cigarettes, but Ryan noticed a large envelope among the usual items, addressed to him in his father’s messy handwriting. The only other detail that felt wrong made his heart drop. 

His father wasn’t breathing. 


	6. Disenchanted

Ryan couldn’t move. His father’s chest wasn’t rising and falling, ragged snores coming from his mouth. No drunken twitches, slurs, or grunts. No signs of life. 

He recognised the smell in the house now. Urine and feces. Ryan had learned the process of post-death in biology class, and in the first hour of death, all muscles relaxed, allowing excess excrement to release. Ryan gagged at the stench, realization of the circumstance finally setting in.

When he finally was able to force himself to move, he snatched the envelope from the table. He ripped it open, pouring the contents onto the floor. Many papers fell out, but the first one he grabbed was a piece of lined paper. When he unfolded it, he saw paragraphs of his father’s handwriting. He sat down to read it. 

 

_ Ryan, _

_ By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. You must have noticed my suspicion by now. I read through your journal. I saw one name in there that made me realize I can’t hide anymore, and that name unravels every lie I’ve ever told. Ever since you were small, I’ve told you about your mother. I told you she ran away from us. I realized I slipped up, contradicted myself. I’m telling the truth now, though I can’t do anything to fix what I’ve done.  _

_ She didn’t run away. I did. I didn’t want to believe in her crazy world, and I didn’t want you to either. Now I know you do, and I can’t change it. I took you away and stole any record of our marriage and you from her place. She hasn’t had anything to prove you’re hers, and she’s never found you. At least, she didn’t for a while. You’ve met her, Ryan. You wrote about her in your journal. Reading your thoughts on my behavior made me realize the damage I’ve done. I’m sorry Ryan.  _

_ In this envelope, I’ve included every record of her contact with us. Use it to live with her. I want you to know I’m sorry. Even if you never forgive me, just know that. Tell her, too. _

_ With love, _

_ George R. Ross _

Ryan dropped the letter, grabbing one of the other papers. It was a birth certificate, his birth certificate. His father’s name was printed on one line. On the other, a name he’d never seen: Iris Elizabeth Delaney. He thought for a moment, pushed the idea away, and grabbed another paper.

The next one was a picture of a wedding. The groom was his father, though he looked much younger and healthier. The woman standing beside him was, to Ryan’s absolute disbelief, Iris. Brendon’s sort-of aunt Iris. The Iris he’d eaten dinner with almost every night for the last two weeks, the Iris that taught the boys how tarot cards worked, how she ran her shop in town. 

His hands shook so hard he dropped the paper. He could barely see now, tears blurring his vision. The idea he had held of his mother for his whole life had been a lie. He’d met his mother,  _ hugged _ her, not knowing who she really was. Iris was everything he’d ever wished his mother would’ve been, working with Lindsay to make sure he felt loved. He almost couldn’t believe it.

He crawled over to his coat, pulling the silvery vial out of his jacket pocket. He squeezed it tight, holding it close and holding back sobs. He clutched it to his chest, letting it shake with him. He hoped Brendon could feel it. 

~~~~~

They were almost out of town when Brendon clutched his chest. His heart felt as if it was being strangled and shaken around inside of him. He could barely make a sound, so only a small grunt came out, but when Lindsay looked back and saw her son in pain, she knew what to do. She quickly turned the car around and drove right up to Ryan’s house.

Brendon would’ve immediately run into the house, but he couldn’t move; he was curled into a ball on the backseat. Instead, Lindsay ran up to the house. When she wrenched the door open, she saw a sobbing Ryan on the floor, clutching the vial tightly in his hands, his knuckles white. She slowly coaxed it out of his hands, giving Brendon a moment to run into the house. 

“Ry?” When Ryan looked up and saw Brendon, he sprung up and wrapped himself around him, sobbing into his neck. “Hey, hey, what happened? What’s wrong?” he asked, running his hand along the boy’s spine and through his hair, letting him cry. Lindsay peeked her head around the corner into the living room and she gasped. 

“Ryan, is that your father?” He nodded. “Is he…?” He nodded again. “Oh, baby.” Ryan slowly unwrapped one arm from around Brendon, gesturing to the floor. Lindsay walked over and Brendon followed, guiding a still weak Ryan. She bent to pick up the letter, quickly scanned it, and ruffled through the other papers. When her eyes landed on a photo of Iris holding a tiny bundle, Ryan’s father leaning into the frame and beaming, she looked at the boy clinging to her son.

“But that’s Iris! This is from… Oh, my gods.” She wrapped him in a tight hug, Brendon sputtering in protest.

“What? What’s going on?”

Lindsay only handed him the photo, stroking Ryan’s hair. He glanced at it, then to the body on the couch, then to his boyfriend and back to the photo. “Oh, my gods. You’re kidding.” 

“No. I almost don’t believe it but… I think Ryan is Iris’ son.”

~~~

The drive back to Brendon and Lindsay’s house was quiet, only Ryan’s quiet sniffles muffled by Brendon’s shoulder filling the cab of the truck. As soon as they reached the house, Ryan was quickly placed on the couch, draped in a blanket, with a cup of tea in his hands. Lindsay had gone further into the house to wake Iris and explain the situation, the packet of papers and photos repackaged and taken with her.

“Ry? You okay?” Brendon asked quietly. Ryan realized he’d been staring into space, his thoughts turning to static. He then sighed, putting the cup down and leaning over to rest against Brendon.

“My eyes sting, my throat hurts, I just walked in on my dad’s dead body and figured out that my entire idea of my mom has been wrong my whole life. I don’t really think I’m okay.” He then realized his tone was slightly harsh. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“No, don’t apologize. I get it, you’re upset. You’d be crazy if you weren’t. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, but I know you’re hurting.” He maneuvered them both so that he was leaning against the arm of the sofa and Ryan was between his legs, his arms locked in front of them. He let his head fall back into the crook of Brendon’s neck, and he pulled the blanket so it was covering both of their legs. 

Their moment of silence was interrupted by a noise from the back of the house. The two boys heard shuffling footsteps and the floorboards creaking before a blotchy-faced Iris appeared around the corner. She looked back and forth from Ryan to the picture in her hand. 

“Is this… Is this really your father?” she whispered. Ryan nodded. Tears welled in her eyes and he stood up, walking over to her. Now that he thought about it, she had the same honey-brown hair as he did, and their noses maybe looked a little similar. 

“Did you read the letter?” She nodded, dropping the picture and placing her hands on Ryan’s cheeks. They looked at each other, nearly identical eyes staring back and forth, and then Iris whispered something only Ryan could hear. 

“My boy… My baby boy…” She wrapped her arms tightly around him, pulling him close, and he returned the action.

“M-mama…” That single word broke both of them into sobs. The two clung to each other, standing in the middle of the living room, Brendon and Lindsay observing from the sidelines. 

They stayed like that for a long while, whispering little words into each other's ears and clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. When they finally pulled away, Ryan sat on the couch and sandwiched himself between Brendon and Iris while Lindsay went to call the authorities about the situation.

Their night after that was filled with questions by police and looking over the documents in the envelope. Neither boy fully knew what was going on (Ryan had shut down almost completely after the emotions of the day, and Brendon had never experienced the police in his life), but it was ultimately decided Ryan could stay with his mother, Brendon, and Lindsay in their little home in the woods, and Ryan was more than okay with that. He never wanted to enter his old house ever again. The adults agreed to take care of the expenses of a small funeral for Ryan’s father, but for now, his body was being taken away. After the day of the service, nobody would have to worry about him, though the thought of him wouldn’t ever really go away. 

Once the police were done with Ryan, he and Brendon escaped into his bedroom, laying down in bed. The two folded into each other, Brendon’s hands carding through Ryan’s hair, Ryan’s hands curled into Brendon’s shirt. 

“Hey, Bren?”

“Yeah?” 

“I… I’m glad I met you.” Brendon laughed lightly.

“So am I.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bren.” Ryan smiled against his chest as Brendon placed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Night, Ry.”

“Night, B.”


	7. The End Of All Things

Ryan woke up to arms wrapped around his waist and a sliver of sunlight resting directly over his eyes. He gently lifted one of the arms from him and placed it back down after moving out of the way, then made his way down from the loft-bed. 

As he padded down the hallway, he could hear the soft scratching of a pencil on paper. His mother was sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling something down quickly. She looked up at him and smiled. 

“Good morning, Ry.”

“Morning, Ma.” He reached into the cupboard and grabbed a loaf of bread, shoving two slices into the toaster and keeping another two out for Brendon once he woke up. 

“Guess what?” Iris asked, putting the pencil down and shoving the paper away. Ryan moved to sit next to her and they exchanged a kiss on the cheek.

“What?” 

“As of about twenty seconds ago, everything about your father has been sorted out.” The last few months had been stressful, full of legal arrangements after his father’s death. The whole household had been a mess, Ryan sometimes completely shutting off emotionally, Brendon trying to make it better, and Lindsay and Iris trying to keep everything together.

“Are you sure? No little extra payments to make anywhere?” She shook her head. “That’s good. Now we can at least be a little bit less crazy.” He got back up and spread some homemade raspberry jam on his toast, shoving the extra two slices into the toaster. Usually he’d go in and wake Brendon up, because he had to leave early for school and wanted to say goodbye, but his last day had been last week. Even with all that had been going on, Ryan still kept up on his schoolwork. Everybody had, of course, heard about his father’s death but he’d insisted he didn’t get any special treatment workload-wise. He had to graduate just like everyone else, in his mind.

“Do we have anything special going on today?”

“Not really. I was hoping you boys would help in the shop today, though.” He sighed in relief. Helping in the shop meant he could sit on a stool and mess around with his guitar and drink tea while Brendon walked around and made sure the shelves looked nice, though never straying too far from Ryan’s music. It was pleasant work, and the music helped draw customers in.

“Yeah, that sounds good. It’ll be nice to get out of the house.” Shoving the last bite of toast into his mouth, Ryan got up and got the two new pieces of toast, smothering them in more jam. As he screwed the lid back onto the jar, a pair of arms wrapped around his waist from behind. A nose rubbed softly against his neck, and breathy words made him shiver. 

“Morning, Ry.” Ryan smiled, leaning back into Brendon and sighing. 

“Morning, B.” He turned around in Brendon’s arms and lifted the plate so he could see. 

“Ooh, food.” Brendon took the plate and sat at the table, leaving Ryan to roll his eyes and sit back down next to him. Crumbs spewed across the table as Brendon spoke. “Thank you.” He leaned over and left a sticky kiss to Ryan’s cheek.

“No problem.” Ryan scrunched up his nose, wiping his sleeve across his cheek to remove the jam left by the fae-boy’s lips. 

Brendon quickly finished his breakfast and grabbed Ryan’s hand. “Oh, do you wanna go for a walk before we go into town?” Ryan nodded, and both boys stepped outside into the warm early-summer air. They walked hand in hand, looking at the green trees and each other, a soft breeze ruffling their hair. Ryan hummed a soft tune and Brendon rested his head on the older boy’s shoulder, smiling when he recognized the song. He nudged Ryan with his head, signaling him to start singing it instead of humming. Ryan complied.

_ When the moon fell in love with the sun _ _   
_ _ All was golden in the sky _ _   
_ __ All was golden when the day met the night

_   
_ _ When the sun found the moon _ _   
_ _ She was drinking tea in a garden _ _   
_ _ Under the green umbrella trees _ _   
_ __ In the middle of summer

_   
_ _ When the moon found the sun _ _   
_ _ He looked like he was barely hanging on _ _   
_ _ But her eyes saved his life _ _   
_ __ In the middle of summer

_ In the middle of summer _ _   
_ _ All was golden in the sky _ _   
_ __ All was golden when the day met the night


End file.
